


Running Lines

by britishmenaredestroyingmylife



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Erotica, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Quickies, Sex, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut, Smut, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 13:24:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2230674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishmenaredestroyingmylife/pseuds/britishmenaredestroyingmylife





	Running Lines

I unlock the door to the theater and slip in silently, backpack slung low over my shoulder. I walk through the empty, twisting corridors toward the stage. I’m stressing out because I know I’m behind; a combination of illness and family problems means the rest of the cast has largely left me in the dust, which isn’t ideal since I’m playing Ophelia in a production of  _Hamlet_.

With Tom Hiddleston in the title role.

_Yum._

I’ve never worked with him before, but I know he’s an incorrigible flirt and ladies’ man; yet, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been almost hoping he’d make a move on me. But he hasn’t – at least not yet. Every so often I’ve caught him checking me out or dropping me a wink, but that’s been the extent of it so far. Well, that’s been the extent of it… in reality. But at night, when I’m alone in my bed, I get myself off thinking about him taking me hard and fast, and then I doze off with the most delicious dreams. He’s rapidly becoming my go-to fantasy.

I shake my head and push these thoughts from my mind as I head toward the backstage area. I’m just thankful the director gave me a set of keys when I asked if I could practice after-hours; my recall is better when I practice where I perform, and every time I’ve come late at night I’ve been the only one in the building. That’s why I’m surprised to suddenly hear a familiar voice echoing through the halls.

I pause when I reach the backstage and I see him. He’s there, in a ratty t-shirt and sweatpants, and he’s reciting the famous soliloquy. I’ve seen him perform it several times at this point and I know he has it down, so I’m surprised he’s here at all – but, if anything, it’ll give me someone else to work off. I drop my bag and pull off my hoodie, then creep quietly towards my mark as I would during this scene in the actual play.

His voice is pained and emotional as he finishes. “Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; and thus the native hue of resolution is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought, and enterprises of great pith and moment with this regard their currents turn awry, and lose the name of action.” I clear my throat; Tom gives a little start and flashes a very un-Hamletlike smile, but he continues. “Soft you now! The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remember’d.”

“Good my lord, how does your honor for this many a day?”

He stalks toward me, and I detect a playful but predatory look in his eye as he smirks. “I humbly thank you… well, well, well.”

I hold out my hands, which would normally be filled with prop letters. “My lord, I have remembrances of yours that I have longed to re-deliver; I pray you, now receive them.”

He draws close, so that is face is mere inches from mine, and flashes a cruel smile. “No, not I; I never gave you aught.”

I look at the ground, sad and ashamed. “My honour’d lord, you know right well you did; and, with them, words of so sweet breath composed as made the things more rich.” I glance up at him and notice his eyes have turned strangely dark. “… their perfume lost, take these again; for to the noble mind rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind.” I take his hand to place the imaginary letters in his palm, and I feel a little thrill as I touch his rough, warm skin. “There, my lord.”

He lets out a hoarse, vindictive laugh as he grabs me and thrusts me up against a wall. “Are you honest?”

I gasp and whimper as I try to break free. Without the typical chatter and bustle that permeates the theater during rehearsals, I’m finding myself more and more aroused. “My… my lord?”

He growls. “Are you fair?”

“What means your lordship?” I cry.

“That if you be honest and fair…” His expression morphs from suspicious fury to playful challenge. “… you will open your legs for me.”

I give a start. “What?”

He grinds his hips forward and I’m startled to find he’s hard. He leans down and whispers in my ear, in a voice dark and sinful, “ _Open… your… legs_.”

I actually give a soft moan as, by now, his voice alone is enough to make me infuriatingly wet. His fingers slide down until they’re cupping and squeezing my ass through my long skirt, and he places his lips on mine as I part my legs.

I don’t bother thinking twice. Yes, this is probably a mistake, but no, I emphatically don’t care right now. I meet his kiss hungrily and he presses into me, rotating his hips as he devours my mouth. I’m trembling now as I feel him leaking against his sweatpants.

“You’re so beautiful, darling,” he murmurs as he begins kissing down the column of my neck. “Been thinking about you so much…”

“Tom,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Please.”

He’s fiddling with my skirt, trying to figure out whether he should push it up or pull it off altogether. He decides on the latter and yanks it down past my hips, letting it pool on the floor.

 _“Oh_ ,” he murmurs as he sees I’m now completely naked from the waist down. “Knickers not really your thing, then, love?”

“Not really.”

“That’s going to make concentration at rehearsal a little more difficult,” he whispers, roughly pulling one of my thighs up so that my leg is hooked around his hip. “Thinking about you… _Ophelia_ … reciting your lines so prettily with no panties on…” He slips a hand between us and palms my clit while his fingers slide just inside my opening. “Your warm, wet cunt just out of reach…”

“Shit, Tom,” I groan.

“Be honest… have you thought about me the same way I’ve thought about you?”

I’m squirming against his cock, which is straining at the thin fabric of his sweatpants and jabbing me insistently in the belly, but he stays maddeningly still… with the exception of those fingers, those long, teasing digits dipping inside me slightly before pulling back out, leaving me panting for more. “Yes…”

“I can’t even count the times I’ve gotten off thinking about you,” he murmurs, licking the shell of my ear. “Fucking you right here… on this stage… up against the wall… yesterday I had to take a break just to wank when I saw you flitting around in that dress with the leather boots…”

I whine as my clit swells under his palm.

“Have you fucked yourself thinking of me, too?”

“Yes, Tom,” I whisper. “Please…”

He pulls his hand away and licks my arousal off his fingers, eyes locked on mine, before shoving the waistband of his pants down. I gasp as his cock immediately bobs freely between us and I give him a questioning look.

“Yeah, I’m not a big fan of underwear, either.” He grins.

With that, he thrusts inside me and it’s all I can do not to scream. He’s fucking  _huge_ , and despite how ready I am I can feel my pelvic muscles working frantically to adjust to the sudden intrusion. He braces his free hand against the wall behind my head and starts a steady rhythm, kissing me and swallowing my moans. He pulls me to him tighter, groping at my breasts while I caress the back of his neck.

“How’s that, my darling Ophelia?” he whispers.

“More… I need more…”

He obliges with a groan as he increases his speed, fucking me mercilessly while I hold on to him for dear life. The sounds of our skin slapping together echo through the empty theater while we grunt and moan. As I bounce between him and the wall, I try as hard as possible to keep my eyes open, watching him grimace and grit his teeth as he pounds into me. The muscles in his arms flex as he pistons forward; then, he leans down and sucks at the juncture of my neck and shoulder, biting down every so often.

“Careful… Ophelia… can’t have… love bites…  _oh, fuck_ ,” I breathe.

“Ophelia… and Hamlet… were fucking… like rabbits,” he pants. “No reason why… she shouldn’t… be a bit marked up…”

“Oh, shit, Tom, don’t stop,  _please!_ ” I cry out, raking my fingers down his back. He winces and plows forward even harder, slamming into me with every ounce of strength he has. I can feel the beginnings of my orgasm start in my pelvis and I arch my back, letting the pleasure wipe every other thought from my mind as I come around him, my head falling back against the wall.

“Fuck…  _fuck…_  I’m coming… oh  _shit!_ ” he screams as he shoves in one last time and empties himself inside my pulsing cunt.

We stay there for a moment, the silence of our surroundings pressing heavily upon us while we catch our breath, and I let my leg drop from around his waist as he pulls out of me. I feel some of his come dripping down my inner thigh as I laugh. “What the fuck just happened?”

He lets out one of his famous chuckles as he grabs for his sweatpants. “Best rehearsal I’ve ever had, personally.” He shimmies back into his clothes and tucks his spent cock into his waistband before picking up my skirt and handing it to me with a wink. “Same time again tomorrow?”

“On one condition,” I reply, pulling my skirt up.

He raises an eyebrow.

“We need to run lines while we fuck or else I’m never going to be ready by opening night.”

He lets out a belly laugh and presses me up against the wall with a kiss. “All right. Might be a bit weird to say ‘Get thee to a nunnery’ while I’m inside you, but I’ll make it work.”

“Thank you.” I slip under his arm and grab my bag as I head for the door. “Good night, sweet prince!”


End file.
